


No Beat, No Melody

by thelittlelion



Series: Hamilton Greek God!AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Hades!Burr, Human!Hamilton, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlelion/pseuds/thelittlelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving the hurricane was the least of Alexander Hamilton's worries.</p><p>Marked by the gods, Alex's new start in America is jarred off course as the same horror that demolished St. Croix now takes aim at the colonies. As the gods plot to use him as their pawn, Alex must learn to navigate the world of the divine, allying himself with the only true constant he knows, Death himself - Aaron Burr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Beat, No Melody

 

> _Death comes rushing on in triumph veiled in a mantle of tenfold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed, and ready for the stroke. On his right hand sits destruction, hurling the winds and belching forth flames: Calamity on his left threatening famine disease and distress of all kinds._
> 
> _\- Alexander Hamilton, Letter to The Royal Danish American Gazette, September 6, 1772_

 

The soil was wet and cool against Aaron’s bare feet. He stepped lightly; picking his way over downed palm fronds and twisted heaps of wood and metal. Each time his foot touched down, he could feel the water seeping deeper into the earth, trickling its way back to the ocean. As he walked he reached out, feeling the flutter of his many ravens working, their movements echoing like pebbles in a pond.

The island was remarkably quiet. No birdsongs rang out. The chirp of insects had fallen silent. Heaviest against the senses was the sting of salt in air pressing down in the humidity, a fading remnant of the waves now fallen back to the sea. Aaron could hear their dull roar in the distance, sated for a time and deceptively calm. 

As if to spite his observance, a warbling cry broke through the silence. Aaron halted, looking up through the dense jungle growth to see black wings fly an arc above his head. The raven circled over him once before pushing away to the east. Another summons.

Aaron’s shoulders dropped. Something like exhaustion dogged his steps as he turned his course and followed.

The bird weaved him a route out of the forest and onto the packed dirt of a road. Muddy water ran down the path, rippling over his feet. It tugged on the long black cape that trailed behind him, though the material itself remained quite dry. In contrast, the dark skin of his exposed feet and ankles shone wet in the twilight.

He followed the raven a short way down a mellow incline. After a few minutes walking, the path bent and the one of the great plantations came to view. The wide expanse of the sugar fields now stood flooded into a shallow lake around the big house, brown water lapping against the previously pristine white exterior. A pale face peered out the second story window, only to jolt away when Aaron’s raven cried out again. The rich, as always, were ever eager to believe their walls could keep out Aaron’s encroachment.

Or maybe the more fortunate simply couldn’t fathom the gruesome sight on their doorstep. Dark bodies floated in the murky water. Tossed without order by the storm, Aaron’s ravens swarmed their corpses, one for each form laying still. They perched on the bodies in the water, beaks dripping gore as they pecked at the motionless forms beneath them. Even more birds flocked in the air, weaving wide circles in the sky above the island. Their wings thumped the air like the drums of war – or a funeral march.

As Aaron drew up the path to the water, the birds turned their glittering eyes to their master, sharp beaks glinting silver. In the middle of the field, like tiny islands, stood the remains of the slave quarters. Huddled on each roof were the survivors. Steely misery colored each face. Too drained to despair, they watched the ravens harvest their family and friends with expressions as dead as those in the water.

Aaron’s fists clenched at the scene, an all-too familiar anger coursing through him. His eyes tracked his leading raven as she circled around one form mid-field, before banking down and alighting on the human’s chest. She swiveled her head and called at him, pawing at the body beneath her. On the roof, the living shuddered and looked away.

Aaron waded into the knee-deep water, feet digging into the mud below, and picked his way to the designated body. The woman was lying half-out of the water, banked on a low mound. Her face was to the stars, turned to one side and streaked with grime. Under the black talons of the raven, her chest rose feebly – a survivor.

His bird danced on her chest in impatience, fixing Aaron with a thoroughly displeased expression. She cawed again, pawing the rising chest, as if Aaron didn’t realize her dilemma. Aaron scowled back unimpressed.

“Yes, I can see that,” he muttered.

His birds, created with the sole task of collecting the dead, saw any impediment to their process, even the uncertain flicker of life, as a personal affront.

The raven glowered at him, lifting off the woman’s body and fluttering up to Aaron’s shoulder. Despite her annoyance, she took care not to pinch into the meat of his neck. Aaron stroked her in greeting, before bending down to study the yet-living woman more closely.

She was older, not quite elderly yet, but lined with wrinkles between her brow and around her mouth. Even unconscious she grimaced, lips pursed and thin, as if she was holding her tongue. Aaron knelt by her side and pressed his palm flat against her chest, feeling the slow thump of the heart in her breast.

Awareness trickled into him. His own chest grew heavy and thick. With every struggling breath, the mud in her lungs gurgled loudly. Aaron could feel the numbness in her limbs, cold as the water around them. She didn’t feel the hand on her chest. She didn’t feel anything anymore.

He sighed, tension draining. He drew back his hand, losing the sensations of her body. Pressing his thumb to his first two fingers, he pushed aside the illusion of human nails and allowed his claws to emerge, hard and sharp. 

In a quick, stabbing motion, he dove his claws into her breast, pushing aside the hard shell of her ribs to the beating muscle beneath. Worming his way in deeper, his claws caught on his quarry. He pulled back from the woman’s core, pinching the bright red string of her lifeline between his fingers. It thrummed, beat by beat, to the rhythm of the woman’s heart.

Pulling it taut, he sliced through the string with his claws. The woman gurgled once. The chest beneath his hand fell still.

He reached up and drew the woman’s eyes down. 

“May in darkness, you find light,” he murmured, drawing a circle on her brow – the sign of a life fulfilled. With his mark, she would have no difficulty finding her way into the Deep.

In death, the bitterness of her mouth relaxed, leaving a much younger face behind. Aaron shook his head, looking out across the field. Around him, his birds bobbed and weaved, driving sharp beaks to the heart and snipping out the lives lost to this world.

_Such as a waste._

Aaron washed the gore from his hand and stood up grimly. The red string he offered to the raven on his shoulder, who snatched it in her beak. She ruffled her feathers and took flight, joining the growing number of her sisters circling in the sky, each with a prize of their own. Hundreds now flew. Aaron watched them, malcontent growing like hot coals in his stomach.

Suddenly a sharp scent of ozone invaded his senses.

Aaron felt the presence of another and turned, eyes falling from the sky to land on the figure now standing behind him.

George Washington cut an impressive line against the sky – tall and fit and grim. As always, he stood in his armor – high black riding boots, a pressed blue jacket with shining golden buttons, his three-cornered hat upon his head. The expanse of his great coat swept behind him, impervious to the mud. His expression was forbidding, domineered by the downturn of his thick brows. His mouth was a harsh line of displeasure that didn’t fade as Aaron turned to him.

Then again, seldom was the Ruler of the Gods eager to meet Death.

Aaron pressed his body into a low bow, smoothing out any lingering expression on his face. “Your Excellency,” he greeted, straightening.

The General nodded at him, eyes sweeping the scene around them. His upper lip curled in displeasure, though at the destruction or the disorder it was impossible to discern. His eyes traveled from the woman at their feet to the blood still lingering on Aaron’s hands. When his gaze finally returned to Aaron’s face, a storm had gathered.

“Burr,” he acknowledged finally, always a shade too formal for comfort. “I was not expecting you here.”

“I go where I’m needed,” Aaron said. He kept his voice neutral - blank. Unspoken words hung between them, centuries of mutual avoidance laid plain in the gulf that divided them.

He knew his presence above ground was largely unwanted by the gods, but Aaron’s pride spiked against the insinuation that he’d neglected his duties to the dead. His held his tongue, curling his toes into the mud beneath the water, seeking grounding. Arguing would get him nowhere. His path was a fine enough line as it was.

Washington studied him. He hid his distrust well, but Aaron knew when his character was in question.

“I have always thought the administration of the Underground commanded your attention, Burr,” Washington said. “Surely, your carrion-eaters are capable.”

“These are hardly every day deaths, your Excellency,” he said. He gestured at the fields around them, “Humans are drowned where the sea has no right to be.”

Washington appeared doubtful. “Hurricanes happen often.”

“Not like this.”

The General’s expression darkened, but his eyes swept away from Aaron, for the time being seemingly satisfied 

“No,” he agreed, voice rumbling lowly. His eyes were on Aaron’s birds in the sky. “This seems to me unnatural as well. Still, there is one way to be certain.” He turned, gesturing with one hand. “Walk with me.”

Aaron had little choice but to obey. They waded out of the field, Aaron keeping a careful step behind the other. Washington led them down the central road, clearly heading for the beach. He marched quickly, an air of determination hanging over him. Aaron only felt apathy in return. There was no point in hurrying for the already dead.

As they walked nearer to port signs of human civilization appeared more frequently along the wayside. The ruined shells of homes lined the road, walls missing or roofs crumbled inward. Entire homes were shifted, pushed array by the force of the storm or carried off in the landslides that followed 

The destruction encroached on the road. A fruit cart laid gutted open, bright oranges rolling on the ground. Road signs were twisted and toppled. The innards of homes leaked onto the path – cooking pots and candles and children’s toys strewn in the dirt. And everywhere flew ravens and lay bodies.

They passed living humans now too, dead eyed islanders who wandered up the road passing them without notice. When his birds finished cutting the heartstrings, they gathered round their corpses and carried them from the dirt.

Twice on their way a raven called out and Aaron found himself bending over a human, releasing them from their death throws, chaffing against the audience. Closing the eyes of the second one – a young boy spotted in freckles – Aaron startled to see Washington’s gaze boring into him.

“I would have your thoughts on this,” Washington said as Aaron rejoined him on the path 

“Sir?" 

“Can you feel something amiss in them?” the General asked.

“No.” Washington glanced at him. Aaron sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I feel their death and the dead feel nothing.”

“I see.”

They walked a short while further, Washington clearly in heavy thought.

A question struck Aaron.

“Your Excellency? If I might inquire?”

“What is it, Burr?" 

“Pardon me, sir, but – do _you_ feel something?”

Washington turned, eyeing him. His expression was stony. 

“You are convinced that this was orchestrated,” he said coolly. “Do you have any proof? Any evidence of misdeeds?”

“It would not be the first time storms have been used to punish,” Aaron replied judiciously.

“So you blame the gods.”

Aaron very carefully did not react. The silence stretched on, a beat too long.

“ _All_ storms are ordained,” Aaron replied at last. Of that, at least, he was certain. And Washington could hardly blame him for acknowledging their universal control 

“Yes,” Washing said finally. “But punishments are sanctioned. The motives behind _this_ storm are unknown, yet you seem convinced that it is unnatural. And you say the dead do not tell you so. Tell me, why should I believe you when you have no proof?”

It wasn’t quite an accusation, but the distrust was clear. Aaron felt his patience wane and then snap. 

“The dead hardly need to,” he said, tone clipped. “You forget who my sire was, sir. I know when something breaks the barrier of the earth and sky.”

The barb hit. Washington’s expression shuddered closed, as predictable as clockwork.

Conversation cut short, they finished their journey in silence. The sun was just beginning to dawn as they cleared the path and stepped onto the sand of the beach. Here, the destruction was the worst – everything inland washing out to shore. Navigating through the debris, they made their way to the waves. When they reached the waterline, Washington put his hand into the sea, calling out for his brother.

They did not have to wait long. The tide swelled as Jefferson swept in, emerging out of the white water of a breaking wave. There was no need to guess his mood. He stalked to shore bereft of his customary swagger, shoulders bunched into a tight line of anger. His feet had scarcely cleared the surf when he turned on Washington, ignoring Aaron’s presence altogether. 

“You Excellency, this was uncalled for!” Jefferson exclaimed, shaking a wet fist. “Domain rights – that’s what we agreed upon! I will not have it torn out from under me with no regard to my sovereignty.”

Washington held out a placating hand. “Jefferson, I assure you, no one in the Capitol infringed on your rights. By your protests I take it that you had no hand in the destruction of this island?”

“ _This_ island,” Jefferson repeated, scowling. “ _This_ island is only the beginning. There are two more just like it - and there would have been more if I hadn’t sensed the change and returned early from France.”

“Do you have any idea who’s to blame?” Washington drilled. 

“If I did, they’d be dead,” Jefferson replied flatly. Here his eyes slid to Aaron. “Speaking of – what are you doing out of your cave, Burr?”

“This would be _my_ domain,” he said dryly, ignoring the taunt and gesturing at the destruction around them. As if to make his point, a raven circled down from above and cawed loudly, landing on a fallen tree nearby and glaring at them. 

Jefferson sneered. “Yes, you must be so proud.”

“Enough,” Washington commanded. Jefferson receded, but not without shooting another glare at Aaron.

“Jefferson,” said Washington, turning on the Sea God, who straightened under his inspection. “This act is a breech of our Constitution – an unwarranted, unsanctioned attack on an undeserving people. Until the culprit is captured, I wanted every sentry in the sea on high alert. Anyone who trespasses will face the full court’s justice.”

Jefferson’s arms dropped. “They trespassed on _my_ ocean, sir. They should face _my_ punishment.”

“This storm violated more than just the sea, Jefferson,” Washington returned. His tone brooked no nonsense. “You will have your chance to speak when they are tried by the Supreme Court.”

Jefferson’s expression was tight. He smiled tersely, showing rows of sharp teeth, and bowed. “I serve at the pleasure of the president.”

When he straightened, his eyes cut to Aaron. “And him?” he demanded.

“I’ll report any discrepancies,” Aaron said stiffly. “As per our usual agreement.”

Washington nodded, looking between them both. He brought a hand to his temple, countenance dark.

“I need to bring this to the Senate,” he said finally. He turned to Jefferson, a command in his eyes.

“I’ll go,” the Sea God said. He looked at Burr, giving him a mocking bow as he spread his hands widely, gesturing out across the desolation. “Your _domain,_ my lord _”_ he sneered.

He was still laughing when he reached the water, wading into the surf and then disappearing behind the next swell. Without his laughter, the beach was quiet. Left alone on the beach with the General, Aaron tensed when Washington turned to him.

“I trust I have your full cooperation with this, Burr? The last time. . . ” His voice trailed.

“I look forward to our partnership, sir,” Aaron said sharply. He hated himself for the anxiety in his voice. Forced his shoulders back down, keeping his chin up.

He extended his hand and Washington frowned.

For a moment Aaron thought he would say something, would reject him, but the General finally nodded, reaching out and shaking his hand quickly – a firm downwards force before he pulled away.

They said nothing more. Washington disappeared with a crack of light, blinding Aaron for a moment. When the spots clear, he found himself alone.

Aaron stared at the spot where the god had stood, finally allowing him expression to relax. Unease crept through him. He’d known intuitively that the storm was unnatural, but there was something in Washington’s expression that set him on edge. He’d heard rumors that Washington had retreated to Mount Vernon with his wife, allowing the world to function as it would. To show up now, dressed for war, hounding Aaron and Jefferson for answers but so reluctant to give his own – it made Aaron wonder just how much the General knew and wasn’t telling them. 

He shook himself, trying to erase his unease, turning his gaze out across the yellow ocean. The crown of the sun was just pressing up against the horizon, too bright to his night wise eyes. Time to go.

He turned his back to the horizon, about to signal his birds, when he paused. A few yards away, a raven was staring at him intently, feathers bristling. It was the same bird that had flown down at Aaron’s declaration, which he suddenly realized had nothing to do with his remark to Jefferson at all.

“Aaron, you ass,” he cursed. Shame flooded him as comprehension dawned - to leave a soul in suffering for the sake of his own ego. . .

He hurried over. The body was tangled in the twisted branches of a fallen tree, forcing Aaron to climb over the gnarled roots and come around the other side. It was a young man, turned on his side, face pressed into the shore. His tan skin was crusted over with sand and his dark hair was long and matted, still wet from the storm. He was bracketed between several tree limbs, as if the he’d been caught between the branches while the tree rolled – no doubt he had tried to use it to float through the storm, only to be pulled underneath and trapped.

The raven hoped off the body to perch in the branches as Aaron knelt down. He pressed his hand to the exposed skin on the back of the man’s nape, feeling the grit of sand against his palm.

Pain rushed through his senses – a sharp bite in his lungs. He was cold, but not so stiff as he couldn’t feel the ache in his bones, bruised from wrestling against the gale. More than that, he could feel the scratch of the sand against his skin, could hear the roar of the ocean – a monster ready to consume him, and he could feel the cool pressure against his neck – a hand against his skin. He opened his eyes, still stinging with salt, and saw the dark shadow looming –

Aaron pulled back with a start, finding himself meeting the narrow gaze of the very much alive human beneath him. Awareness bloomed in those eyes. The human gasped, shuddering, and water burbled up from his throat. He choked and scrambled to push himself up. There was nowhere for him to go, caught between the tree branches, but he wriggled like a caged animal wild with panic.

Aaron moved without thinking, pressing his hand back to the human’s nape, urging him to stay down. He could feel the pulse raging beneath him as the human’s eyes went wide, pupils dilating. Then he laid very, very still – a rabbit in snare of a wolf.

The raven warbled uncertainty, dancing on the branch above. Aaron glared at it.

“Away,” he chided, shooing it. “This one is not for you.”

She squawked at him, affronted, but took off, sweeping away. Aaron turned back to the human, a jolt running through him as he realized the man was staring directly at him, eyes wide with a terrible sort of comprehension. His pulse raced under Aaron’s palm – he could feel the human’s body flood with adrenaline – fight or flight instinct jarred by the hand upon his neck.

“ _You! – Your_ – ” The human’s voice was rough, filled with terror. Aaron wasn’t sure what to do. The living were so clearly not his domain.

He nodded, attempting to keep his face blank. The body beneath him shuddered, trembling all over.

“Am I _dead?_ ” the man croaked.

_It would be so much simpler if you were._

“No,” he said. He studied the human beneath him, still feeling the ache in the man’s body. Hurt, yes – but he would live.

Aaron had no more place here. He drew away, sitting back on his haunches. Then he stood up, ignoring the way the human’s eyes followed him. Sunlight warmed his skin, making Aaron squint. Above, his birds were flying faster now, swarming in great circles overhead. Day was chasing them away. It was really was past time to go.

_“Wait!”_

Aaron turned, eyebrows rising at the sight of the human half risen on his hands, attempting to twist his way out of the branches. The man’s face was screwed up in a picture of determination, despite the pain he was no doubt feeling.

“ _Why_?” the man demanded, struggling to free himself. “Why would you do this? What was the _point?_ ”

 _This_. The storm. The destruction that lay all around them. Of course the man would blame him – it was the human thing to do. Hadn’t Aaron done so himself just before?

So Aaron answered it the only way a god would.

“Why does a god do anything?” Aaron said. “Because they can.”

And wasn’t that the truth. It _wasn’t_ a natural storm. It wasn’t the sanctioned anger of a god enraged.

Whatever deity had drowned the island had done so as a point – because they could – because it was a sign of power – to the humans and the gods. _I was here_ , the destruction said. _I commanded and the world obeyed._

And Aaron’s hatred burned. He turned away from the human’s devastated expression, eyes on the sky.

He’s had enough of the world for one day.

He raised his hands to the air, calling on his birds. They wheeled as one, a black cloud of wings and talons that curved out of the air, whirling as they dove to him.

Aaron called on his Underworld, opening a crack just big enough to step through. His last sight was the white of the human’s eyes widening, before the shadows rushed him away. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! Thanks for making it through the first chapter. If you liked it - please drop me a line below! I love reading your comments and they are definitely a huge motivator when the brainpower gets low. 
> 
> A word about the mythology, before we go any further. I'm basing this _very loosely_ on the Greek myths. Some of characters will line up with qualities pretty similar to the actual pantheon, while others will differ greatly. In general, assume powers are generally similar, while the relationship tree is not. I'll post a guide later on, as it become more relevant.


End file.
